


Insanity By Definition

by thecattydddy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aliens, Angst, Character Death, Just read it if you want, M/M, SO SORRY, but not tons, future!verse, germany is the holy roman empire, i dont even know, im just trying to get a character personality idea down, just ignore me, president assassination, there is a little bit of research in here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecattydddy/pseuds/thecattydddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Insanity (n). - Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. </p>
<p>-------</p>
<p>When President James Alexander is assassinate for trying to pass the Alien-Human Relations Act of 2025, America takes a turn for the worst. Germany finally begins to remember forgotten past and England is going to have to choose between his son and his nation. </p>
<p>Warning: The plot is really crappy and not well thought out, but I'm working on getting to know characters, so read at your own risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hetaliafanficpetpeeves](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Hetaliafanficpetpeeves).



> I'mma just dedicate this story to hetaliafanficpetpeeves.tumblr.com because I was using them as a reference. Thanks a lot, guys!
> 
> I have to warn you I don't know the characters well as of yet and this is supposed to be my process of doing so, so I apologise in advance.

"Is it just me," Alfred eyed the nations as they left, Feliciano practically draped over Ludwig's arm, "Or do those two seem a little bit more than friends?"

 

"What kind of idiotic question is that?" Francis demanded. 

 

"Come off it, France," Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder, looking directly at Alfred, "We both know America was too young to know about such things at the time and, frankly, he has never one to brush up on his history - Or anyone else's, more like."

 

"Hey!" Alfred demanded, "I know all sorts of historical things! Like the Roman Empire? I know about that guy!"

 

"Oh please," Francis rolled his eyes, "You know next to nothing about that man."

 

"Oh? And what do you know about him?" Alfred challenged. 

 

"America," Arthur frowned, giving him a disapproving look, "The Frog here is older than all of us."

 

"Like fine wine," Francis cooed, winking up at him. 

 

"More like stinky cheese," Arthur returned, "Seriously, what's with all the perfume?"

 

"It's not perfume! It's Cologne," Francis argued. 

 

"Hey! Guys! Not to interrupt your flirting" Alfred demanded, waving his hand to get their attention, "But you about to explain Germany and Italy, right?"

 

"We aren't flirting!" Arthur demanded. 

 

"Oh contraire, Mon Cher," Francis winked. 

 

"You shut it this instant," Arthur commanded. 

 

"Guys!" Alfred whined, "Come on! Tell me! What is up with the two of them?"

 

"It's... A long story," Francis let the smirk slip from his face and averted his eyes from the quizzical look from Alfred. 

 

"Perhaps we should sit," Arthur stated, gesturing over to a room across the way. The three of them entered the room, finding an empty lounge in there and each took a seat. Alfred took over the entire couch while Francis and Arthur each took a large chair opposite to him. 

 

"Okay, so... Story time?" Alfred wondered, pulling his legs up placing them criss-cross applesauce. 

 

"Perhaps I should..." Arthur looked over at Francis, but he shook his head. 

 

"No, it's alright," Francis insisted, "This is something I need to do." Alfred, for once, remained silent. Francis took a moment, collecting his thoughts, before taking a deep breath and beginning his story. 

 

"The year was 1809. Napoleon Bonaparte was a great man and a better leader. His strategies, although radical at times, were nothing short of spectacular. I knew him well and I often accompanied him on his triumphs across the known world. Inch by inch we conquered. A time like that, one just ended of a bloody revolution which killed so many, we were desperate people back in the day, Mon Petit. Even so, I'm sure you could share a need for power, oui? One does not rebel otherwise." 

 

"Hell yeah! Though with someone breathing down my neck all the time, can you blame me?" Alfred laughed. Arthur shifted awkwardly in his chair, but said nothing. 

 

"So you see, it was not a unique thing in and of itself. I cannot honestly say I did not enjoy the rush of a victory or the addition of a few kilometres of land-" Francis continued. 

 

"Kilometres - Those are like miles, right?" Alfred clarified. 

 

"I seemed to have forgotten you use that system," Francis stated, "Yes. I suppose a mile would be the closest approximate you have."

 

"I don't see why you have to make everything so difficult all the time," Arthur grumbled, "Dropping u's, using a basis twelve system, calling them french fries..."

 

"It's not my fault metric totally sucks, Man," Alfred shrugged. 

 

"It does not suck!" Arthur retaliated, "Metric is so bloody simple! A basis of ten which you can actually count on your hands makes far more sense than whatever rubbish you're using."

 

"Oi! Gentlemen," Francis snapped, "I am in the midst of telling a story. If you two cannot behave I'll be forced to separate you both."

 

"You can't tell me what to do!" Arthur criticised, "I'm United Bloody Kingdom!"

 

"Dude. Just let the guy finish," Alfred rolled his eyes. 

 

"Thank you, Amérique," Francis offered him a smile, "This is why you're my favourite."

 

"Don't be telling him lies, you git," Arthur mumbled, under his breath. 

 

"As I was saying," Francis ignored him, "This story is about how that hunger for power got a bit out of hand and how... How I did not realise it until it was too late."

* * *

 

It was in a place known as Saxony - A state of the HRE. I stumbled across a young man with neatly cared for blonde hair and a battered navy blue uniform. The thing was, to be honest ghastly even then. I barely recognised him, to be completely honest. That was the Holy Roman Empire and... And I realised he was dying. 

 

Of course, I had never been particularly close to my family. I was always a bit unpleasant back then, on occasion, and he had always spent so much time chasing around Italy, who could have befriended the boy, anyways? Damn fool thought Italy was a girl and everything. If that wasn't enough, our relationship was one of constant rivalry. 

 

Despite this, he was still family and I went to his aid as soon as I realised who he was. He was... Beyond help. He was weak and looked incredibly pale. When he could speak, he often didn't realise where he was. There were nights where he'd just constantly ask for Italy. On rare occasions he'd also ask for a man named Prussia. I didn't know him at first, but we soon became acquainted. Napoleon kept moving east and Holy Rome fell into a coma. Prussia, when he visited, was weaker but determined. He's the most stubborn man I've met to date - Even more so than you, Angleterre. 

 

Finally, I lost hope for Holy Rome, but Prussia did not. He took the boy away, claiming that he would do everything he could to save him. My duty was a less pleasant one. 

 

Italy was housed in Austria for a great deal of time before I had left. As a conquered nation, he was a servant of Austria alongside Hungary. He was a sweet boy way back when and had absolutely no backbone. I already considered Italy family, but something about losing such a constant in my life made me reconsider a few things. Even for us, life could slip away at any time and it was best to make the most of it. Finding Italy missing from Austria's care was no setback for my mission. I had to go through Romano to get to him and everything. Let's just say he choses it's best not to cross me - even to this day - and leave it at that. 

 

Italy, bless his heart, was kind enough. He welcomed me and we sat at a diner like civilised men. About halfway through the meal, he asked me if I'd happened across Holy Rome. I knew then that I would have to carry out the task I'd come for. My answer was short, simple and necessary. 

 

"Holy Rome is dead," I said, "Forget about him, Italy. You've had enough troubles, oui?"

 

It was true. The Italy brothers had reunited after a very long time to band against Austria. Although the two of them are the closest of any two nations I've ever seen, they are not without their differences nor their struggles. 

 

Your heart would have broken if you had seen the look from Italy. He did not bring up Holy Rome, again, and I did not press the issue, either.  

* * *

 "That's all dandy," Alfred interrupted, "But what does that have to do with Germany?"

 

"Prussia," Francis concluded, shooting a glare at Alfred for his impatience, "Was successful in rescuing Holy Rome, but not without consequences. The coma had given him amnesia and, when he finally did awake, there was nothing there but a hysteric albino and a crumbling hole in his memories. Prussia told him his name was Germany and raised him in the finest of the area's culture. Peculiarly enough, his relations with certain people remained very much the same. He still has a strong, brotherly connection with Prussia, a rivalry of unmeasured quantities with myself and certain still lying feelings for a young country from his youth."

 

"So... Why doesn't someone just tell him?" Alfred wondered. 

 

"It's not as simple as that, America," Arthur shook his head, "When a nation is destroyed, we go with it. The only one known thus far to be an exception to this rule is Prussia - and he has plenty of days that he is too ill to get out of bed or nights he spends drinking away his troubles. Even if Germany were to regain his memories... We fear what would become of him. War changes men, America - You know that."

 

"You're afraid to reignite those memories," Alfred finally understood. The two of them nodded and he stood up, "Poor guy. That kind of sucks."

 

"Indeed," Francis agreed, "Though his fate very well could have been much worse."

 

"Yeah," Alfred shrugged, "I guess."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany and Italy in this Chapter. Yeah. 
> 
> Also Prussia. Because he is fantastic and don't even talk to me. 
> 
> Drunk shenanigans.

"Germany! Germany!" Feliciano bounced up to his desk, leaning across it to get closer to him, "Chao!"

 

"Good afternoon, Italy," Ludwig answered, meeting him in the lean to lay a kiss on either of his cheeks before returning to his work as if nothing had happened, "Where have you been?"

 

"Hehe," the Italian's eyes darkened in playful mystery, "Wouldn't you like to know."

 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ludwig looked up, confused and suspiciously. It was very unlike Feliciano to hide things - If anything, the shorter man always said too much and Ludwig had been forced to shut him up on multiple occasions."

 

 "Oh nothing," Feliciano giggled, sitting on Ludwig's desk and kicking his feet, "Hey, Germany? Think I could make dinner tonight? Mister Austria taught me a great new recipe and I wanted to try it out!"

 

"You do know he probably stole that recipe from somewhere else, right?" Ludwig stated. 

 

"It's not stealing - It's improving," Feliciano stated, "At least, that's what everyone told me during the Renaissance. All my big brothers were rather mean then, though..."

 

"Yes, Italy. You may use the kitchen," Ludwig interrupted a coming ramble, "Und please don't make a mess."

 

"You got it!" Feliciano hopped down, waving as he went, "I'll see you at dinner, Germany!"

 

"Ja,ja," Germany looked back to his work, only sparing Feliciano one last glance, "Sure thing."

 

The hours went by and Feliciano cooked, whistling a soft tune as he did so, while Ludwig worked, frowning heavily at the numbers and people and places he was supposed to be able to manage. It was just about dinner time when there was a rather effeminate shriek from the other room. He dropped his work and raced for the kitchen, slamming the door open in concern. Feliciano stood on the other side of the room, beating Gilbert with a spoon as he crackled deviously. 

 

"What the hell happened here?" Ludwig demanded, "Prussia, when did you get here?"

 

"I just got home, actually," Gilbert answered. Feliciano paused in his beating, looking at Ludwig somewhat guiltily, "I just came in to great our little guest and he started hitting me."

 

"That's not what happened at all!" Feliciano demanded, "He snuck in here real quiet and then went whispering in my ear! He's a scary, pervert!"

 

"Come now, Bruder," Gilbert turned to Ludwig, "Would someone as awesome as me ever do such a thing?"

 

"Actually, that sounds incredibly like something you'd do," Ludwig answered, "Stop harassing Italy. He's very sensitive." 

 

"Hmph," Feliciano crossed his arms, turning his shoulder to Gilbert. 

 

"Not so fast, Italy," Ludwig direct his attention to the Italian, "You can't go around beating up Prussia. No offence, but he'll win. Also, he might have a heart attack because he's so old." Feliciano giggled at the last part, placing the spoon on the counter. 

 

"I'm not that old!" Gilbert argued, "Italy is way older than I am!"

 

"Then you should respect him as your elder," Ludwig concluded. Gilbert frowned, but let the subject drop, "Italy, how is dinner coming along?"

 

"It's almost done!" Feliciano grinned, energetically, "You and Mister Prussia can go get to the table before I serve it!"

 

"Sounds great," Ludwig nodded, directing Gilbert out of the room, "Can't wait. It smells delicious." About halfway to the table, Gilbert pulled out something, seemingly from nowhere, and shoved it into Ludwig's arms. 

 

"Don't let it be said Prussia isn't hospitable, Ludwig," Gilbert grinned. Ludwig looked down at the beer and smiled just a little. 

 

"You brought beer," he stated, "You are God-sent, Gilbert. Italy has cleared most of it out."

 

"Come on," he pressured, "Let's crack into this awesome beer before he gets back." They made it to the dining room and each took some, and clinked their glasses together, sending a toast of well-being to the other and drinking it down. Gilbert drank down glasses almost as fast each time, but after the first Ludwig was a bit more controlled. Soon enough, Feliciano arrived with the dish. 

 

"Are you drinking beer at dinner?" he frowned, setting a plate down in front of each of them.

 

"Prussia was kind enough to bring it," Ludwig answered. 

 

"Of course he was," Feliciano sent a glare at the man, but didn't push the issue as he took his seat, "Tell me what you think, okay?"

 

Ludwig took a bite, considering before nodding in approval, "This is pretty good, Italy. You said Austria taught it to you?"

 

"Yeah," Feliciano nodded. 

 

"It seems familiar, somehow," Ludwig muttered, "Though I've never had it before, as far as I know."

 

"I remember this!" Gilbert voiced from his end of the table, "Didn't Austria used to make this all the time back in when you were under his control, Italy? You were such a little gourmet pig back then."

 

"You were under Austria's control?" Ludwig questioned, looking over at Feliciano, who paused mid-bite to look up with wide eyes, "I didn't know that."

 

"Yeah it was ages ago," Gilbert reminisced, "The guy always makes countries his servants after conquering them, so Miss Hungary and Italy here were one of many."

 

"Oh, Miss Hungary, too?" Ludwig turned to Gilbert, "This seems like a rather important piece of history - Why don't I know about this?"

 

"It was nothing, really," Feliciano insisted, "Just eat your dinner, Germany."

 

"But-" Ludwig opened his mouth to argue. 

 

"Please," Feliciano pleaded. He dropped the subject and ate his dinner, but the suspicions were still very high. 

 

Dinner continued with Gilbert getting more and more drunk and making worse and worse comments. Feliciano contemplated throwing dishes at him and Ludwig kept drinking his beer at a more reasonable pace. By the time the meal was over, Gilbert was smashed and even Ludwig had a slight buzz. It seemed Feliciano was the only one still full aware. He sighed, standing to clear the dishes and take them to the kitchen. 

 

As he reached for Gilbert's dish, the nation reached out and grabbed him by the arm, speaking in a slightly slurred german, "Look at you, Italy. Just like old times, ja? All you need is a little dress and you'll be all set."

 

"Get off me," Feliciano growled, ripping his hand away without much effort. Gilbert offered a lopsided smiled before his head hit the table and he began to snore. Italy rolled his eyes and carried the dishes to the kitchen. He returned to the dining room and, with a bit of difficulty, dragged Gilbert to his room and tucked him in. He closed the door with disgust and then returned to washing the dishes. 

 

He was just about done when fingers found their way wrapped around his hips and a taller man breathed down his neck. Italy reached for the spoon, ready to hit Gilbert in the face with it, if he need, but dropped it in surprise when the voice was from a different German all together. 

 

"You would look good," Ludwig mentioned, "In a dress. Preferably a green one. With an apron and bonnet."

 

"G-germany?" Italy turned to face him and a wave of the smell of beer hit him, "What are you talking about?"

 

"Gilbert mentioned something about a dress," Ludwig explained. Feliciano raised an eyebrow. He knew the two brothers were known to call one another by their human names when no one else was around - The same as he did with Romano - but both were always very careful to drop that habit when they had company and never referred to each other by them to others. It brought into perspective just how much Ludwig must have been drinking, in actuality. 

 

"Yes. Back when I worked for Mister Austria," Feliciano answered, "It was common place for the servants to wear them and so I did. I had a friend who... He thought I was a girl because of it." He looked down, clutching a handful of Ludwig's uniform in each of his fists. 

 

"Something happened to you there," Ludwig growled, "Was it Austria? Did he hurt you?"

 

"What? No!" Feliciano shook his head, "No, Mister Austria was very nice. He was a bit scary at times and tried to feed me scraps, but he wasn't too bad. And he played very beautiful music."

 

"Then what?" Ludwig demanded, "Feliciano. Please tell me. It obviously still bothers you." He looked up, meeting Ludwig's concerned look and they stayed like that for a moment. 

 

"No," he said, at last. 

 

"No?" Ludwig blinked, taken aback. 

 

"It was a very long time ago," Feliciano answered, "And it doesn't matter, anyways. France told me he is dead and I should have forgotten him by now. There is no use in reliving the past."

 

"Who was he?" Ludwig pressed.  

 

"He was a very good friend," the Italian muttered, resting his head on Ludwig's chest and speaking very quietly, "Possibly even more. It lasted a while, but when things became turbulent, he went off to war. He died in battle."

 

"Italy," Ludwig petted his head, "Did you love him?"

 

"Yes," Feliciano nodded. Tears pricked at his eyes until finally they spilled over. Ludwig picked him up and Feliciano cried into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around Ludwig's neck. He carried him to his room and set him on the bed. Feliciano took of his shoes and jacket and pants before hopping under the blankets, whimpering into the pillow. 

 

Sighing, Ludwig stripped as well and pulled the covers up to climb under as well. Feliciano shot him an alarmed look, but Ludwig simply rolled his eyes.

 

"Calm down. I just thought you could use a little support," Ludwig settled beside him, resting an arm on Feliciano's waist, "Feel free to kick me out if it doesn't help."

 

"No, that's..." Feliciano snuggled up beside him, sniffling, "Thank you, Germany."

 

"You can call me Ludwig - If you'd like," he mentioned, drifting into sleep. 

 

"Oh, um... Alright," Feliciano replied, "Good night, Ludwig."

 

"Guten nacht, Feli," Ludwig slurred, his eyes drifting closed, "Sweet dreams."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look random plot point who put that there?
> 
> No seriously where is this story going i have no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note. 4600 Forint is worth:  
> ~ $20   
> ~ 15 Euros  
> ~ 12 Pounds

Ludwig entered with Feliciano, like he always did, to the world conference. He eyed two countries out of the corner of his eye as they talked animatedly in hushed tones, constantly looking over their shoulders. 

 

"Give me a moment, Italy," Ludwig said, ushering him towards the conference room. Feliciano smiled and said he'd meet him there, skipping away. The German snuck up behind the two nations - Which had turned out to be Arthur and Francis - and crossed his arms, "What's going on over here?"

 

"Ah! Germany!" Francis hid behind Arthur, who narrowed his eyes in annoyance. 

 

"We're discussing private matters," Arthur answered, "None of your concern."

 

"Perhaps you shouldn't act so suspicious, then," Ludwig replied, "Now, I would suggest you tell me before I happen to remember what really happened after the Entente cordiale."

 

"You wouldn't dare!" Francis hissed. 

 

"I'm sure Canada would just love the mental pictures," Ludwig smirked, sarcasm lacing his words. 

 

"Alright, alright, fine," Arthur growled, "Get over here." They dragged Ludwig into a shadowed corner and both turned to him. 

 

"What is it?" Ludwig demanded. 

 

"It's... America," Francis began, giving Arthur a look out of the corner of his eyes. The Englishman averted his eyes. 

 

"What about him?" Germany inquired. 

 

"The young nation has always had a great deal of trouble with his northern and southern halves," Francis explained, "The two of them have never seen eye to eye and, even in a time of peace, are constantly condemning the other. In his civil war, the southern portion tried to break off. A young country was even born, but... The Confederacy did not last long. America ended up killing him. Some people like to say that the Confederation's spirit didn't die, however, and merged with America. Others simply say that the boy nation went mad after being forced to kill a child. In either way, America has had a very serious condition now."

 

"What?" Ludwig blinked, "How come nobody else knows about this?"

 

"Generally, he is unaffected by it," Arthur said, "The secondary voice he will hear is often quiet and on occasion silent. It is mostly in times of distress or turmoil that it will make an appearance. He used to come by during the Great Depression and you could tell. It was more than just a general lack of enthusiasm - The paranoia was out of control."

 

"So, why is this such a big deal, now?" Ludwig inquired. 

 

"As of a few nights ago," Francis said, "James Alexander was shot and killed by several Southern radicals."

 

"His President?" Ludwig raised an eyebrow, "What for?"

 

"Do you remember when we had that contact with an alien species a few years ago?" Arthur reminded, "The one that Alfred was ecstatic over? With the Dyiads? President Alexander had been dealing with the treatment of these species in America for a while. They are an imprinting species and will often create unbreakable loyalties. Unfortunately, some people have seen this as an opportunity for slave labour. When the Alexander tried to pass the Alien-Human relations Act..."

 

"He was shot," Ludwig concluded, "I could see why this would cause problems. What about the vice president?"

 

"Rocky Jacobs cannot be found at the moment," Arthur answered, "It is believed he went into hiding as soon as Alexander was shot. Already, massacres have broken out across the country. The Military has stepped up until he is found."

 

"What?" the German's eyes widened in alarm, "We are talking about the same America, correct?" 

 

"Indeed," Francis confirmed, "It was surprising to us as well."

 

"More importantly, however," Arthur added, "Is that America is a force to be reckoned with. As much as I hate to admit it, he has come a long way since the Revolution and I'm afraid he will not be easily stopped if he turns offensive - Especially over there. Canada can hold his own, if need be, but it will not be the same stories towards the south."

 

"If he's showing any symptoms of his condition," Francis finalised, "We are considering holding him captive. Although the kidnapping and capture of a nation is generally a sign of war, we fear he will not quite understand the extent of the damage he can cause."

 

"Germany," Arthur said, "You are aware how nations die, correct?"

 

"Don't they just disappear after they fall?" Ludwig asked. 

 

"Not quite," Francis shook his head, "A war or battle or conquering will weaken a nation, but as long as they are still alive, there is always a possibility for them to come back. Prussia, for instance."

 

"For a nation to truly die, another must kill it at it's weakest period," Arthur explained, "Some will be to traumatised to fight. Others will be paralysed. There have been those that even fall into comas. Often, an invading nation will kill them out of mercy. Few have been as fortunate as your brother, Germany."

 

"And our fear is that if America has become this way after he killed only one," Francis concluded, "What may he become after many?"  

 

"I could see why this would be an issue," Ludwig nodded, "The meeting is about to start. Perhaps we should..."

 

"Yeah," Arthur nodded, "After you."

 

The three of them entered the conference room, meeting up with the last few stragglers as everyone flooded the room and took their seats. Ludwig found Feliciano had gotten a spot beside him and began talking animatedly as soon as he took his spot. The last people to enter the room were Matthew and, to his right, Alfred. 

 

Alfred was offering a concerned looking Matthew a small smile, rubbing his temple. Ludwig caught Francis' eye and both looked towards England to see him staring right at Alfred. 

 

"Hey-yo, England," Alfred took his usual spot beside Arthur, Matthew sitting on his other side, "What's up, Dude?"

 

"America? Are you feeling alright?" Arthur inquired. 

 

"Just a bit of a headache," Alfred insisted, "To be expected, right?"

 

"Yes. I'm sorry to hear about last night," Arthur frowned, "You were fond of this one, were you not?"

 

"Yeah," Alfred looked at the table, his grin faltering for a moment, "Kennedy and Lincoln were pretty great guys as well. It always seems to be the cool ones, yeah? Just goes to show." He offered another small smile and remained quiet, nursing his throbbing head. 

 

The meeting began as usual. Ludwig led it, working around the occasional squabble and discussing a decent number of current issues. It was not until near the end of the meeting when Alfred finally spoke. 

 

"Yo! Hi," he directed the conversation to him, making everyone pause, "Hey. So, I was wondering what information we have on those elements we found on that meteor. One landed in the Pacific and then another in Russia. Apparently scientists in Germany were looking into it? I want to know what the deal is."

 

"The elements have been identified as a new kind," Germany explained, calmly, "We called them Rubiearium and Pacifium. It appears that, when put together, they make a substance that can... Copy."

 

"What do you mean by copy?" Francis inquired. 

 

"I mean it can duplicate, Dumbass," Ludwig snapped, "The substance was tested on both living and non-living entities. With just a small amount, the substance was able to clone an entire sheep. However, the clone was never living. It is not possible to use this stuff to create life, however it may be useful for nonrenewable resources such as coal and oil."

 

"Does it only copy what it's made of or an object in its entirety?" Antonio asked. 

 

"It is capable of entire objects to almost perfect cloning, save for mutational error," Ludwig answered. 

 

"So," Alfred spoke, "Could it be used for military purposes?" A hush fell over everyone and Arthur tensed. 

 

"Yes," Ludwig confirmed, "It would be ideal for someone building a large military or mass producing weaponry, however it would be much more beneficial to use to to create resources for our nations that to use it to fight one another."

 

"I was just checking what I was up against, just incase," Alfred shrugged, "Please. Continue."

 

"Right," Ludwig straightened his paperwork, moving on. 

 

From that point on, the meeting remained awkward, but Alfred didn't say anything for the remainder of it. Ludwig was sure to usher Feliciano out as quickly as possible once the meeting was over. He was sure to grab Matthew on his way out as well. America was packing his things and didn't seem to notice as the room cleared. Arthur shot Francis a pained look and he only nodded in understanding. 

 

"Alfred," Arthur said, making the nation spin around, somewhat confused. 

 

"What's up, Artie?" He asked, tilting his head a little, "If this is one of those Mommy has a new friend speeches, you can save it. Everyone already knows the two of you fuck. Well, maybe except for Canada and Italy, but they've gotta be expecting something."

 

"What?" Arthur sputtered, "No! It's nothing like that! And we don't!"

 

"Haha. Sure thing," Alfred rolled his eyes, "What can I do for you, then?"

 

"Amérique," Francis said, "We have a concern for you at the moment."

 

"What about?" Alfred wondered. 

 

"You know very well what about," Arthur answered, "I think you should come stay with us for a little bit. Just to make sure you're alright."

 

"I can't," Alfred apologised, "Sorry, guys, but I've gotta be home more than ever. Things are going down over there and it only makes sense that I deal with it. I am the national personification, after all. It's kind of my responsibility."

 

"That's an honourable statement, Mon Petit," Francis replied, "But I'm afraid we cannot let you go."

 

"What?" Alfred laughed, "You're kidding, right? No offence, Dude, but you can't keep me here. I'm a hell of a lot stronger than-" His eye lids fell and he fell forward, being stopped from hitting the ground just in time by a female hand. 

 

"Hungary!" Arthur demanded, rushing to his ex-colony and giving her a mean look, "You were only supposed to do that if we couldn't control him!"

 

"Let's be honest here," Hungary rolled her eyes, holding her frying pan over her shoulder, "We all knew it was going to happen. You're welcome, by the way."

 

"Yes. Thank you, Hungary," Francis pulled out some Hungarian bills and handing them over to her, "4600 Forint should be enough, oui?"

 

"I told you I was happy to do it, just because," she answered, taking the money and waving good-bye, "Feel free to call me, later, if you need help!" They both looked down at the unconscious nation and silently agreed to do that. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look Canada! 
> 
> Also, for the record, France isn't a goddamn rapist can we all just stop now. Mattie has spoken and if you are telling me this adorable little thing would lie to anyone you can just leave.

 When Alfred came around, his he was laying in a bed. He was neatly tucked in and there were a few extra blankets set at the end for him, just in case. He pulled the covers aside and found he was wearing a pair of frilly pyjamas with a flag of the United Kingdom embroidered onto it. Scoffing and shedding the attire as quickly as possible, he stood in his boxers and socks to try and ruffle through a wardrobe. There were a few things in there and he pulled out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt decorated with the Union Jack. 

A pain stabbed in the back of his mind and he could hear a voice speaking to him, quietly - As if through a wall.

 "Not that one," a southern accented voice said, "Come on now, 'Merica. How's it gonna look with you wearing that." The nation sighed and put the shirt back, not really having the energy to fight back against the voice. He grabbed a plain white one, instead, and slid it over his head. Once he was dressed, he walked over to the door, but was unable to open it. 

"Hey-yo, Guys!" he called to the other side, "Hello? I seem to be stuck in here!" Arthur and Francis sat at the kitchen table, one with a glass of wine and the other with a cup of tea. 

"He's awake," Arthur muttered, his voice following the sound of Alfred's calling. 

"Are you sure you're prepared for this, Angleterre?" Francis inquired, "It will only get worse from here on out."

"What other choice do I have?" Arthur questioned, "I feel responsible for him. I swear, this would never had happened if I had just won that damn war."

"England," Francis narrowed his eyes, "I'm going to tell you this only once - You cannot be blaming yourself for this. If your intentions are truly to help him, you're going to need to put aside your guilt. He needs someone stable enough to support you both."

"I don't know if I can do this, France," England swallowed, "If all this turns out to be for naught... I'm not sure I'm going to be able to take it." 

"We will put off our final plan as long as possible," France insisted, "I can promise that. I know you do not what me to have anything to do with the boy, but I care deeply for him, myself and even moreso for his brother - Who would be equally devastated."

The doorbell began to ring frantically and the two exchanged looks, Francis finally getting up to go and answer it. 

Back in the bedroom, Alfred began to realise no one was coming to help him. He'd tried the handle about a hundred times and to no avail. He knew that breaking through the door would probably be no real challenge to him, but despite the voice in his head, he also knew how much Arthur hated it when he broke things - Particularly those actually part of his home.  

"He shouldn't have tried to lock you up, then," the voice reasoned, "It'll teach him a valuable lesson." 

"No. Stop it," Alfred growled, "I'm sure he has perfectly good reason..." A loud yelling came from the other side of the door, which Alfred recognised as his brother's, though it was a lot more passionate than the nation usually got, "Mattie! Hey! In here!" 

Matthew, who'd stormed into England's house, yelling at Francis and then his anger reaching it's peak by the time he found Arthur in the kitchen, paused and turned towards Alfred's voice, "Alfred!" Francis saw him move towards that direction before he did and grabbed his arm to keep him from freeing the American.  

"Matthew," Francis pleaded, "Listen a moment, merci! We are not going to harm him. Sit down." 

"No!" Matthew pulled on his arm and glared at Francis, "And don't call me that! I hate you!" 

"No you don't," Francis pouted, keeping his grip tight with a little difficulty. 

"Yes! I do! Let me go!" Matthew kicked at his leg.  

"Angleterre! A bit of assistance!" Francis looked over his shoulder at Arthur, who nodded and helped push Matthew into a chair, despite his fighting.  

"Canada! Calm down!" England snapped, "And listen!" 

"Don't yell at him," Francis muttered. 

"Oh, shut it, Froggy," Arthur growled, "Canada. Your brother is not well. We can't let him go home." 

"Why not?" Matthew demanded, "You're supposed to watch out for him - Not keep him like a prisoner. You don't really love him. Liar!" 

"No, no, of course I do," Arthur looked genuinely hurt, "This is for his own good. He's only going to be worse if we just let him go. You've got to trust us."

"What could possibly happen to him?" Matthew demanded. 

"You are aware what happened to his boss, correct?" Francis inquired. Canada stopped struggling and nodded, "Well, the military has taken control, Canada. They are basically crushing an uprising in the south at the moment. Already, seventy Dyiads and twelve men have died. The north is hoarding food and the south is hiding their guns. The vice president has gone into hiding."

"But..." Canada frowned, "He has to go talk to them..."

 "They wont listen to him," Arthur answered, "Or worse, they'll try and appoint him as their leader. A nation is a perfect representation of the people, true, but we are not meant to rule. As a matter of fact, the general population isn't supposed to know about us." 

"Power drives men mad," Francis turned to look off to the side, "And America is already unstable." 

"What do you mean, unstable?" Matthew hissed, "Alfred is perfectly fine! There is nothing wrong with him!" 

"Canada," Arthur knelt down beside him to express his sincerity, "As much as we'd all like to believe that, I'm afraid it's not quite true. Alfred is still suffering from a war a long time ago. You don't just forget things like that." Alfred was arguing with himself, during this, holding his head and trying to focus his vision.

"Just forget about him," the voice commanded, "You need to go home." 

"No. I can't leave him!" Alfred argued, "Sure, I may be a total jerk to him, but he's my brother for pete's sake! I need to watch out for him." 

"He's going to hold you back," the voice hissed, "You should just let those bastards have him."

"No!" Alfred snapped.  

"Fine," the voice growled, "Take him with you for all I fucking care. Just get on with it." Alfred shook his head, trying to clear it and kicked at the door. His foot hit the knob and he pulled back in pain. He rested only a moment and tried again, this time getting the wood right below the door and kicking it open. He ran across splintered wood in his socks, getting a piece in his foot but ignoring it. He found the kitchen and the sight before him. Francis had his hand on Matthew's shoulder while Arthur was still kneeling before him.  

Darting across the room, Alfred socked Francis in the jaw, knocking him away from Matthew and eliminating what he saw as the biggest threat. His glass was knocked off the table in the process and shattered against the ground, surrounding Francis' figure as Alfred beat the hell out of him.  

"There you go, 'Merica," his voice cooed, "Harder. Hit him harder!" and Alfred obeyed. He was about to lay another punch when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him away. Not bothering to see who it was, Alfred fought back until he was shoved off of Francis and onto his back, the breath leaving him. A weight settled onto his middle and he groaned. Opening his eyes, he was looking up at Matthew, who pinned his arms above his head. Anger was in his usually passive eyes and Alfred felt all the adrenaline drain from him. Arthur was helping Francis up over Matthew's shoulder. 

"Mattie," Alfred muttered, smiling just a tiny bit, "You're alright?"

"Of course I am," Matthew sighed, more annoyed than angry at this point, "I came here looking for you, Alfred."

"Did that rapist hurt you?" Alfred shot a hateful look at Francis, who looked back in shock. 

"France isn't a rapist," Matthew corrected, climbing off of his brother and helping Alfred sit up, "What the heck's got into you?" 

"I... Don't know," Alfred admitted, "You were just in danger and I... Sort of blindly attack the most threatening thing in the room." 

"And that was... France?" Matthew raised an eyebrow, "You're kidding, right?"

"Hey!" Francis demanded, but he was ignored. 

"Haha, guess so," Alfred chuckled, awkwardly, "Sorry about that, Mattie."

"Come on," Matthew tried to help Alfred to his feet, "You've got blood all over your hands. We need to go clean you up."

"Ow!" Alfred lifted his right foot off the ground, pulling it up into view and ripping the sock off. 

"Don't do that! There's glass all over the place!" Arthur scowled, but he, too, was ignored.  

"I think I got a splinter," Alfred pouted observing his foot, "Guess that's what I get for kicking the door in."

"You did what?" Arthur demanded, to which Alfred smiled, sheepishly. 

"Come on," Matthew practically dragged him away, "Let's go."

"I think he broke my nose," Francis grumbled, his words sounding off because of said nose. 

 "Just be glad he didn't get the idea to stab your eyes out or something," Arthur replied. Francis simply shuddered.  

* * *

"Ow!" Alfred squeaked, trying to pull his foot out of the reach of the tweezers. 

 "I'm not going to be able to get it out if you keep moving," Arthur growled, "Sit still."

"It hurts!" Alfred whined, dragging out his vowels. 

"You can get shot in the arm or break your leg and it's no big deal, but as soon as you get a splinter, it's like the entire world is coming to an end," Arthur shook his head, "Honestly."

"Guess it's a good thing I have you around to help avoid that, huh?" Alfred laughed, yelping, again, when Arthur went back to working. 

"Yeah," Arthur sighed. He worked in silence for a moment before Alfred spoke, again. 

"Hey, Artie?" Alfred asked, to which Arthur gave him an annoyed response.  

"What is it, Alfred?"  

"What am I doing here?" Alfred inquired, "Last thing I remember was you and France coming up to me the other day and then I woke up here. Did something happen?"

 "Yes..." Arthur answered, "Hungary hit you with her frying pan."

 "What? Why?" Alfred's eyes widened, afraid he was on her death list for some reason. 

"Because France paid her to," Arthur answered, "About twelve pounds."

"I suddenly feel less guilty about using him as a punching bag," Alfred grumbled. 

"The Frog deserved it for many reasons," Arthur laughed, "That is simply the most resent of them."

"Yeah," Alfred smiled, "Thanks for looking out for me, Artie. You know, I need my space, but I still appreciate when you come through for me, despite it. It wouldn't look great to show up back home while I was out cold."

"You're welcome, Alfred," Arthur answered, "But I'm afraid you wont be going home."

"What?" his face fell, "What do you mean I'm not going home?" 

"I mean you're ill," Arthur answered, "And you can't go home like that or you're only going to get worse."

"You can't keep me here!" Alfred argued. 

"I can and will," England stated, "Other countries have already agreed it's the best course of action including Matthew and Japan in addition to France and myself. For the security of the world... You will stay here."

"Give me those," Alfred glared, holding his hand out for the tweezers. 

"What?" Arthur looked at him, surprised. When Alfred didn't say anything, Arthur handed them over with a sigh. 

"Get out," Alfred commanded. 

"Alfred. I only have your best interest in-" Arthur began. 

"Just... Get out.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ludwig," Feliciano sat up in his seat, leaning towards the television to get a better view, "You better get in here."

 

"What is it?" He stuck his head into the room, Gilbert following his example. 

 

"American Government, under the rule of General Richard Blake since the assassination of former President J. H. Alexander, has declared a kidnapped persons by the name of Alfred F. Jones," the news reporter explained, "Although they refuse to give much information about the man except a few images and a name, it is believe he is a diplomat of some sort, as he is said to have been kidnapped while away on foreign business. He appears to be in his early twenties with blonde hair, blue eyes and a pair of rectangular glasses. He is often seen wearing a leather jacket and a military uniform. The American government has made a statement of zero trade until the man is returned, safely."

 

"No trade? With anyone?" Gilbert demanded, "What are they thinking? They're going to devastate themselves just as much as any of us!"

 

"In addition to this, all transportation to and from America has been cut," the reporter continued, "Many Americans and other peoples are trying to flee over the borders to Mexico and Canada, but are being cut off by the military as..."

 

"This is terrible," Feliciano turned the volume down, setting the remote into his lap and staring at the screen, "What's going to happen to all those people?"

 

"We can only hope that some of them escape," Ludwig answered, sitting on the couch beside him, shooing Gilbert away with a wave of the hand, "I'm sure Canada is doing his best to accommodate to those crossing over."

 

"Do you think America knows about this?" Feliciano wondered. 

 

"He's got to have some idea," Ludwig nodded, "He probably doesn't know the full details, but the more people that get hurt or die, the more pain he'll be in. I should know. World War Two hurt plenty of people here, as well."

 

"Do... Do you think he's gonna die?" Feliciano worried. 

 

"If his country destroys itself," Ludwig answered, "Then no. He should be alright. If anyone else tries to conquer him or kill him once he gets to weak, however... There is a very high likelihood of that."

 

"He was rather forgiving to me after the war," Feliciano said, "Barely even occupied."

 

"He's not a bad kid - not really," Ludwig muttered, "And his ego may be large and his consistent enthusiasm irritating, but he has good intentions. I'm sure England will do everything he can to help the kid - That man is practically his mother, in any case."

 

"Yeah," Feliciano nodded, "I just... I've already lost enough."

 

"Is this about that boy you don't like to talk about?" Ludwig demanded. 

 

"That is a long story," Feliciano answered, "But more than just him. I spent a great deal of time with my grandfather, Rome, too. His disappearance was saddening as well. Even my brother - who I love dearly - was and still is, in a sense, distant because we were always separately conquered."

 

"I don't know about America or anyone else, Feli," Ludwig placed a hand on his shoulder, "Und, frankly, I cannot promise to be there for you, forever, myself, but... I will stay with you as long as I can. No matter what our countries face or if they even become rivals - I can promise this."

 

"Thank you," Feliciano leaned against him, frowning at the ground, "That is more than one can really hope for."

 

"Why don't we watch something a little more cheerful," Ludwig suggested, taking the remote and flipping through the channels, "I've had just about enough of that for now."

* * *

 

Ludwig stood at the door to England's house, waiting patiently for the door to be opened for him. Finally, it did and France stood there. 

 

"What? Do you live here, now?" Ludwig demanded. 

 

"Oh, like you can talk, Monsieur I've-Been-Sleeping-With-Italy-Since-The-Fall-Of-Rome," Francis replied. 

 

"I don't know, Francy-Pants," Ludwig shrugged, "Last I checked, only the conquered live at other's homes this consistently. Did England finally do you over? In more ways than one."

 

"Oh, shut up and come inside," Francis snapped, storming away from the door. Ludwig smugly followed him into the house and, there after, the kitchen. His smile fell when the scene played out before him. 

 

America was already heavily affected. He'd been known in the past to be a little chubby, but that was mostly gone now. He didn't seem to have much of an appetite, no matter how much Matthew begged him to eat. He wore a ratty, blood-stained white t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. There were bags under his eyes. 

 

"Germany," he greeted him, waving weakly, "Hey. How's Italy and Japan? They haven't come to see me, yet. Saw Prussia the other day, though. He gave me a baseball bat. It was pretty nice of him. He also brought beer, but France over there despises the stuff, so I'm pretty sure he disposed of it - Otherwise I'd offer you some."

 

"You look awful," Ludwig stated, bluntly. Everyone turned to him, aghast, but Alfred simply chuckled. 

 

"Yeah, I do, don't I?" he agreed, "Get everyone out of here, will ya? I wanna talk."

 

"Are you sure?" Francis eyed Ludwig, skeptically. 

 

"Yes. Get out. My god, I'm not going to die, yet. Chillax," Alfred ushered him and Arthur and Matthew out. Ludwig took the seat across from him at the table. Alfred coughed into his arm before looking up and offering him a small smile, "Finally. Those three haven't gotten off my back in weeks. I was beginning to think I'd never be rid of them."

 

"Do you... Know what's been happening?" Ludwig asked, cutting right to the chase, "Back at home?"

 

"Not quite," Alfred shook his head, "They've all been very careful to censor it. I don't like being here - So many damn rules. England confiscated my guns. True, I did almost shoot him in the foot, but still."

 

"How are you? Physically?" Ludwig pressed. 

 

"I'm alright," Alfred shrugged. 

 

"You don't have to lie - I can tell you are not," Ludwig stated. Alfred frowned and let his hand rest over his stomach. 

 

"Well, in that case," he muttered, "In truth, I feel like shit."

 

"I would expect it," Ludwig understood, "Your nation has fallen under the military, America. A country full of people who are publicly loud and vocal about their opinions will not easily be broken. How many do you imagine have died?"

 

"I like to hope nobody," Alfred attempted. 

 

"You don't believe that," Ludwig said. 

 

"No. I don't," Alfred agreed, resting his face in his hands, "In truth... I have been able to get little bits and pieces of information. Apparently, New York City tried to vocalise their objection and... And were basically levelled. Woman and children included. The water supply into Los Angeles was poisoned after they held an anti-war rally. Thirty Chicago citizens lined up and shot in Millennium Park for, apparently, trying to steal rations. No trial, of course."

 

"And the Dyaid?" Ludwig prompted. 

 

"Oh, they're being massacred," Alfred scoffed, bitterly, "Everyone is blaming them for everything. Tony escaped into Canada, fortunately, but they can't all be as fortunate. Before you ask, I already know about them cutting off trade. The general theory is that's why I can't seem to eat anything without it coming back up within an hour."

 

"You do understand," Ludwig folded his hands, "You will not be in a condition to help anyone at home, America. You are at your best here where you have people to care for you and a steady supply of food and clean water and nobody is holding a gun to your head. Economies across the world are struggling, but there is absolutely nowhere worse than America right now. It's a good thing they cut off all transportation in and out because your home, as of now, is a slaughter house."

 

"I know," Alfred nodded, "Can't kill the part of me that believes there's still something worth fighting for, though."

 

"And I wouldn't want to," Ludwig replied, "That's what's going to keep you alive, America. As long as you have something to fight for... You will continue to go on."

 

"Thanks," Alfred sighed, "For coming to visit me... And for being honest."

 

"You're welcome," Ludwig stood up to go. 

 

"Hey," Alfred reached out and took his arm, keeping him from leaving quite yet, "Could you do me a favour?"

 

"Hmm?"

 

"I need you to go and have Japan get me a bottle of hair dye," Alfred explained, "Something dark - maybe brown... But with like a red kind of tint to it."

 

"Um... Sure," Ludwig agreed. 

 

"Thanks," Alfred released him, leaning back into his chair and closing his eyes, a smile settling onto his face, "Later. Give Italy my regards. Be sure to tell me when you both finally have a colony, eh? Hehe."

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I'm an American. Just gonna put that out there, in case some of you are ready to get mad at me. 
> 
> I mean, feel free to do that still, but yeah. Just keep that in mind if you want to yell at me. 
> 
> Also, I couldn't find anything on England abolishing another country or leading to the downfall of one. True, I didn't spend that long looking, but yeah. If any of you know something, hit me up?
> 
> 'Kay thank and adios. 
> 
> Enjoy your fic or whatevs.

"Hey, uh... England?" Matthew stopped Arthur in the living room as he was passing through, "I was wondering if you could tell me about The Confederacy."

 

"Really?" Arthur crinkled his nose, "Why?"

 

"You said that his death would be affecting Alfred," Matthew answered, "So... I thought maybe I should know more about him."

 

"Yeah... Alright," Arthur gestured for Matthew to follow him and headed down a hallway. Paintings lined the walls and he briefly saw each one, recognising them as all the different nations, "I had Italy make them. I have always been intrigued by history and, also, they say a picture can capture the soul of a person. The sorcerer in me is all to interested in that - Even if I'd never be foolish enough to actually revive any of these men and women."

 

"You have one for everyone?" Matthew asked, following closely behind him. 

 

"Indeed," Arthur answered, pointing at pictures as he said their names, "China, Rome, Germania, France, Spain, Switzerland, Austria, Holy Rome, The Italy Brothers. The list goes on. For every nation that anyone can remember, I have a painting. I've even got one for Sealand, despite the fact he's not a real country."

 

"What about Alfred and I?" Matthew wondered. 

 

"Right here," Arthur chuckled, stopping before a couple paintings. One was Alfred, smiling his trademark American smile, which Matthew realised he hadn't done in a while. To the left of it was a picture of himself, a small smile on his face as he half-raised his hand in a wave. 

 

"Who is that?" Matthew asked, pointed to the picture to the right of Alfred's. He was similar to Alfred when he'd been young, so much that he might have called them twins if he didn't know better. He was a young boy with dark red eyes and reddish-brown hair. He had a large smirk and adventurous eyes. The coat hung over his shoulder was a few sizes too big and dog tags hung from his neck. He leaned heavily on a baseball bat. 

 

"That," Arthur answered, "Would be The Confederacy."

 

"He... He doesn't look evil," Matthew muttered. 

 

"What?" Arthur turned to Matthew, his eyebrows knit together, "Of course he doesn't. He was a child. Actually was a bit of a sweetheart. When he first arrived - a few years before the war broke out - Alfred and him got along pretty well, actually."

 

"What?" Matthew demanded, "But he killed him! And now he's Alfred's evil alter ego, isn't he?"

 

"Not at all," Arthur shook his head, "Canada, you must understand that there is no such thing as an evil country. Leaders may make poor, cruel choices. Nations may be born out of hatred and war. Someday there may be a nation who will come along and kill another. It is simply the balance of our world. We will always have rivals and we will always have allies, but there is no such thing as good and evil. Because what would we be like to them? What makes our perception more valid then theirs?"

 

"But if he was just a kid, why is he the one Alfred sees in his mind as such a cruel person?" Matthew wondered. 

 

"Because Alfred is haunted by what he was forced to do," Arthur answered, "For the good of his nation and the good of the world. He needed to convince himself that what he did was justified. He painted a twisted picture of a young child and kept it alive in his mind. Its helped him keep his confidence, but the price he paid is his sanity."

 

"Have you ever needed to make a decision like that?" Matthew wondered. 

 

"Fortunately, no," Arthur answered, "I couldn't even bring myself to seriously harm my colonies, Canada. What makes you think I would ever kill one? By no means would I call myself a blameless man, with all that I've done in my day, but I would not take a life - Especially one that I loved."

 

"What if... What if you had to?" Matthew wondered, "If Alfred couldn't be saved, for instance... Would you kill him?"

 

"If there are no other options," Arthur answered, after a moment of thought, "And he had to die, anyways... I suppose I would rather have him go in the arms of a friend than an enemy, so.. Yes. Yes, I would."

 

"I hope that doesn't happen," Matthew said. 

 

"If all goes according to plan," Arthur answered, "It wont."

* * *

Alfred held the bottle of hair dye in one hand while he soaked his blonde hair under the tub faucet. Popping the cap off and spreading the dye into his hair, he hummed softly as he massaged the colour in.  

 

The container had told him to wait ten minutes before rinsing and he turned on his phone as he waited, playing Minesweeper. The ten minutes passed by, quickly, and he returned to the tub, rinsing his hair and then towel drying it. He stood on and faced the mirror, checking for any remaining blonde strands, but didn't find any. 

 

The reddish-brown hair hung in front of his face - all except for Nantucket, which seemed to always return it's normal position. Taking his glasses off, he put some red contacts in, distorting his blue eyes. He pulled a pair of aviators from his pocket and slid them on his face, tossing his glasses aside and looking in the mirror. The last piece was a chain, which held two dog tags. He held one of them up and read the name printed across it. 

 

Jason Surratt

Confederacy. 

 

He slipped the chain over his neck and stared at mirror, grinning at the man that stared back at him. 

 

"Smug bastard," the voice was as loud as ever, "Smash his face in." He positioned the bat over his shoulder and swung, smashing the glass. A shard cut across his cheek, drawing blood. His grin spread wider. 

 

"Indivisible," he whispered into the cracked mirror, "With liberty and justice for all."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I had a little bit of an argument with myself about what to make Alfred's birthday because, like we celebrate July 4th, but then there is the whole think like the original vote was on the second. I ended up with the second, but I'm prolly gonna go back and change it, later. 
> 
> Also, can we talk about how American Dog Tags are ridiculous. Seriously, we've got six different divisions, all printed differently, and then, depending on the company that prints them, the religious information can be so many different things. Military personnel are distributed two, though, so we don't have to break them. 
> 
> Okay, ignore my randomness. Enjoy your crappy fic. Or don't. I can't tell you what to do.

"What are you painting?" I wondered, looking over Italy's shoulder as he painted. 

 

"I'm painting big brother France," Italy looked up, smiling at me. 

 

"Why?" I inquired, glaring at the painting. France always seemed to be getting on my nerves, even back then. 

 

"Because I heard there is someone on that little island," Italy answered, "They haven't introduced themselves, yet, but I think it'd be a good idea to give them an idea of what we look like. I decided to start with him."

 

"Oh," I considered, "I see."

 

"I'm almost done," Italy said, "If you want, I could paint you next."

 

"Really?" I perked up, "I mean, only if you want to..."

 

"Of course I do," Italy laughed, "Just give me a moment."

* * *

Ludwig blinked his eyes opened, confused. Sitting up, he took in his surroundings. The blinds were down to keep out the day's sunlight and there was a weight around his waist. He looked back towards the bed to see Feliciano fast asleep, still. He sighed and gently pushed the nation off, swinging his legs over the side the bed and heading out to go and start his morning routine. 

 

He was standing in the kitchen, fully dressed and reading the morning paper over a cup of coffee when Feliciano stumbled in. 

 

"Guten morgen," Ludwig greeted, flipping to the next page in the paper. Feliciano mumbled something in Italian and walked over to the coffee machine. He barely had the mug full before he started drinking the beverage down. 

 

"Any news," Feliciano finally asked, setting his empty cup in the sink. 

 

"Nothing. It seems any attempts to find out what's happening in America have ceased, as they are too dangerous. Most countries have banned do so, anyways," Ludwig folded up the paper, putting it aside and washing both his and Feliciano's empty mugs, "I had a peculiar dream, though."

 

"Oh? What was it about?" the Italian inquired, sitting on the counter as Ludwig worked. 

 

"Well, you were there," Ludwig explained, "Painting, actually. And... I think you were wearing a dress. It was incredibly strange."

 

"Why was I painting?" Feliciano inquired, "Do you remember?"

 

"You wanted to introduce us to a new country on an island. I think you were referring to England," Ludwig answered, "And You were painting a picture of France."

 

"Really? Huh," Feliciano hummed, "I actually do paint pictures for England, you know."

 

"What? Really?" Ludwig questioned. 

 

"Yeah. I've been doing it since I found out about him," Feliciano nodded, "He's asked me to do one for every country since, and so I have. Even the micro nations."

 

"That seems like a lot of work," Ludwig stated, drying off the mugs and putting them away. 

 

"I've been doing it for a long time, so..." Feliciano trailed off. Conversation died off after that and they went off their separate ways for the day. 

* * *

"I'm sorry, Italy," Arthur shook his head, "I'm afraid no one is allowed to see him."

 

"Why not?" Feliciano demanded. 

 

"His condition has gotten worse," Arthur answered. 

 

"Let me talk to France, then," Italy pressed. 

 

"He's gone to Canada to help secure the borders," Arthur stated, "And Canada has gone with him, obviously."

 

"How... How bad is he?" Feliciano wondered. 

 

"Come inside," Arthur stepped away from the door frame, "I just put the kettle on, so we can talk over a cup of tea." The Italian obeyed, following him inside and taking a seat in the kitchen. Arthur got all the things he needed for the tea and handed a cup to Feliciano before sitting on the opposite end of the table with one of his own. 

 

"Thank you," he said and Arthur nodded his acknowledgement.

 

"Italy," Arthur began, "You more than anyone knows what it's like to lose someone you consider family."

 

"Uh-huh," Feliciano agreed. 

 

"So you understand when I say I would do anything to help him, if I just knew what to do," Arthur continued, "However, things are not looking well. As of now, I basically have to keep him locked in the basement when Canada isn't around. He's been taking to compulsively breaking things. I was forced to confiscate his baseball bat after he smashed the bathroom mirror."

 

"He did what?" Feliciano's jaw hung open a bit, "But..."

 

"It's unsettling to all of us," Arthur nodded, "I think the worse part is when he comes to his senses. You and I couldn't possibly imagine losing control of ourselves like that, but I can assume it must be quite awful because of the way he flinches from every movement. 

 

"There isn't anything you can do?" Feliciano asked. 

 

"If there was, I would have already done it," Arthur insisted, "But of course nothing short of devastating the entire country will help him... And even then we aren't certain it'll work."

 

"Is there anything I can do?" Feliciano asked. 

 

"You're Catholic, correct?" Arthur verified. 

 

"Technically," Feliciano nodded. 

 

"Then you can pray," Arthur replied, "Because I don't think anything short of a miracle is going to help him."

* * *

 Alfred had managed to throw a plate though the basement window and had finally scaled the wall after about seven hundred tries. He squeezed through the small exit and kneeled on the grass for a moment, catching his breath. A light clicked on in the window above him and he quickly scampered against the wall to avoid being seen. 

 

Arthur glared out into his lawn, but he didn't see anything and stepped away from the window. When the light switched back off, Alfred let out a breath. Sneaking toward the back door, he found it unlocked and crept inside, trying to make as little noise as possible.

 

"France?" Arthur called and Alfred panicked, jumping into a closet in just enough time before the Englishman entered the room, looking around, "Canada? Hello?"

 

He was skeptic for a moment and when he did eventually head out of the room, he had a questioning glare in his eyes. Alfred exited the closet and went past the living room, where Arthur was busy reading his book, and up the stairs. He found Arthur's room with ease and looked around for a place where one may hide things and decided the closet was a good a spot as any. Unfortunately, the door was locked, so he went looking for a key. 

 

He found it under the mat in the bathroom and returned to the closet, triumphantly. The lock turned with a soft click and then the door swung open, easily. He found a room full of random things and a grin spread across his face. The old man still used it for exactly what he always had. 

 

Alfred kicked aside a box of matchbooks he'd had tried to collect when he was younger, that is until Arthur found out about them, and dug around for what he was looking for. The baseball bat was easiest to find, as it was leaning next to the door, but the guns would be a little more difficult. A safe was sitting towards the back and Alfred sat in front of it, thinking of what the code could be. He thought of something and spun the numbers into place. 

 

6-2-1-7-7-6

 

"You sentimental idiot," Alfred chuckled, once the door popped open and he pushed it aside to see his guns and box of tea that had the words "For the fishes" written on the side in ink. Alfred had been wondering where that thing had went. He pulled out his gun and shut the door to the safe. 

 

"Alfred F. Jones," an angry voice said from behind him, "You put those back right this instant, young man." He froze, panic crossing his face. It was like his number one childhood fear come true and he almost burst into laughter at the thought of Arthur trying to take him across his knee. 

 

"Sorry," Alfred stood up and turned to face Arthur, brushing his dark locks out of his face, "No can do, Mom. I've gotta get home."

 

"You aren't going anywhere," Arthur stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. He had on that sour face he always did whenever he was trying to be authoritative. 

 

"And you're gonna stop me?" Alfred raised an eyebrow, weighing the pistols in either hand, "I'm sorry, but let's just take a moment to look at the situation, huh? You're an old geezer and about seven million times weaker than myself. Not to mention the fact that I'm plenty armed and, frankly, you wouldn't shoot me, even if you were."

 

"I would do it if I had to," Arthur stated, "I was hoping it wouldn't be necessary."

 

"Really?" Alfred smirked, tossing a pistol over to him, which Arthur barely caught. The American spread his arms out, eyebrow raised, "Well, then go right ahead. You shoot me and we'll call it a big mistake. I'll go back to being kept like a dog and you can keep telling yourself that what you're doing is helping me. One shot. That's all you've gotta take. Might kill me though, so best to be careful." Arthur positioned the gun, his hand trembling, and aimed it at his ex-colony. 

 

"That's what I thought," Alfred laughed, as Arthur lowered the gun, after a moment, "Please. Allow me." He raised his own and his bullet landed in the chest, causing Arthur to curl over in pain, gasping for breath as it penetrated a lung. Blood pooled over into his hand from the wound and Alfred stepped out of the closet, grabbing his bat on the way out and rested the gun against Arthur's temple, "It's a real shame this isn't gonna be permanent, but at least it'll hurt like a bitch. Next time, I'll be able to finish you off for good."

 

The pistol sounded and Arthur watched as everything went black. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred finds his way home and Arthur finds his way to a hospital.

"Arthur!" Francis was leaning over the man as he began to regain consciousness, his head swimming and an almost unbearable pain in his forehead.

 

"Francis?" he mumbled, "What the bloody hell happened?"

 

"I was going to ask you," Francis answered, "I come home to you bleeding out in your bedroom and Alfred was gone." Arthur's vision cleared enough for him to see his surroundings. A hospital room came into view.

 

"Am I in a hospital?" he panicked, trying to climb out of the bed, only to have Francis push him back down.

 

"Calm down, Mon Cher," Francis commanded, "The Prime Minister already took care of it. You are fine. Anyone who knows has been paid to keep quiet about it, oui?"

 

"This is incredibly irresponsible of me," Arthur laid back down, allowing his eyes to flutter closed.

 

"I would not consider this in any way your fault," Francis stated.

 

"It is. I should have known he'd go looking for his things," Arthur placed his hands on his face, "And I shouldn't have hesitated."

 

"Hesitated?" Francis raised an eyebrow.

 

"Alfred tossed me one of his guns and dared me to shoot him," Arthur explained, "I was worried about hurting him, but a shot in the leg or something might have been-"

 

"Arthur," Francis sat on the bed, beside him. The Englishman opened one eye and peered through his fingers, "This is not like a war you've had with him in the past. His rejuvenation rate is considerably lower right now. It is for the best if he receives as little bodily harm as possible, at the moment."

 

"I don't need you to justify me," Arthur growled.

 

"Good, because I'm not," Francis stated, "This isn't about you, at the moment, England, so I would advise putting your own self-doubt aside for the moment. Our young friend has gone home. He took a plane last night from London to Quebec and then snuck across the border. I would assume he made it to Washington DC, by now."

 

"Who the hell let him on a plane?" Arthur demanded.

 

"The kid apparently has fake passports," Francis shrugged, "We need to look into that, once he's better, by the way."

 

"One problem at a time," Arthur waved his away, "You need to go back and help Matthew."

 

"I'm afraid he's banished me from the country on the grounds that it is too dangerous. As a matter of fact, the entirety of the world is advised to stay out of that hemisphere," Francis said.

 

"So what? We just sit around until he decides to give up?" Arthur demanded.

 

"Matthew has requested an offensive on the Canadian border," Francis explained, "We are going to be meeting to discuss this."

 

"When?" Arthur demanded.

 

"In about an hour," Francis explained.

 

"I'm going," Arthur stated. Francis pushed him back into bed, giving him a disapproving look.

 

"No," he stated, "You're going to stay here and rest."

 

"And let you go off without me? I think not!" Arthur argued.

 

"We're just discussing it," Francis stated, "There will be other opportunities. You need to heal before you'll be of use to anyone."

 

"I want British soldiers sent over if you decide for it," Arthur compromised.

 

"You need to stop getting between those two when they have a squabble," Francis stated, "The War of 1812, for example."

 

"That wasn't even a real war," Arthur rolled his eyes, "Just do it, France. Jeez."

 

"I will mention the offer, but no promises," Francis leaned over him, placing a quick kiss onto his nose, "You know, for a moment, I thought you were dead. It would have been rather unfortunate to have lost you."

 

"What?" Arthur furrowed his brow, confused.

 

"I would have missed having someone so entertaining to harass," Francis clarified, turning and heading out the door. Arthur threw a remote after him.

 

"Shut the hell up, Froggy!"

* * *

Alfred stood in the white house's oval office, staring out the window onto the lawn.

 

"Alfred, Sir," a man poked his head into the room, "You've been called to meeting with General Blake."

 

"You know," Alfred muttered, "I saw this capitol burned to the ground. In the war of 1812."

 

"That was nearly two hundred years ago, Sir," the man stated, confused, "You couldn't possibly have seen that."

 

"A lot of people blame Canada," Alfred ignored him, "But it wasn't even really a war with Canada so much as it was with Britain. Did you know that?"

 

"I did," the man nodded.

 

"Just to think," Alfred laughed, "Mattie getting blamed for something like that. You know, that guy is literally the most chill person you will ever meet? Seriously."

 

"Uh... Sir," the man pressured, "The General..."

 

"Yes, yes. I'm coming," Alfred waved him away. As soon as he was gone, Alfred grabbed his jacket and slipped it over his shoulders before heading from the room. The General was waiting for him in the Treaty room, standing on the opposite end of the room, running a finger across a table to check for dust, "General?"

 

"You know, at first I thought you were a joke," the man stated, turning to face Alfred, "A last attempt by the former president to pull a prank. He did so much enjoy to do so, in his youth, as far as I'm aware."

 

"Yeah," Alfred nodded, "That's what he told me, too."

 

"I was only assured of your existence by some of the security guards who used to work here," General Blake stated, "They mentioned you were often to travel to England or Canada and that you were known to have their respective personifications here as well. I was also told the French one was known for flirting with all the first ladies."

 

"Yeah," Alfred nodded, "My relationship with England and France is complicated at the moment. I was forced to shoot the former in the head just to get home."

 

"What?" the General blinked, "Wouldn't that be something to mention? That sounds like something to declare war over."

 

"Don't worry," Alfred rolled his eyes, "He'll be fine. As long as someone found him and he got the bullet out of his skull, there shouldn't be any serious remaining damage. To powerful of a nation for something like that."

 

"I don't understand," The general stated.

 

"Nations are a lot different than humans," Alfred explained, "First off, only other nations can kill each other - And even then only when they are weak. It's easiest to kill a newborn one, but a falling one will work too. Most of them won't even fight back, depending how hard they've fallen. I hear Holy Rome fell into a coma."

 

"So... What countries have nations?" The General inquired.

 

"Oh, all of them," Alfred answered, "Any nation, micro-nation, colony, province, state or even city with an inkling of independence has one. You may have met Washington D.C. Her name's Amelia. Bit of a firecracker, that one. Some nation personality are representatives for the same region over a period of time, despite name changes. There's even one for that little abandoned British fort. Sealand? Cute kid."

 

"Interesting," the general contemplated, "If what I read is correct, you are a literal personification for the opinions and personality of the people, yes?"

 

"Basically," Alfred confirmed, "Of course, I've lived and experienced things no human ever will, so that affects me as well, but for the most part."

 

"Alfred," the general leaned forward, speaking quieter, "How would you feel about being a ruler of the country?"

 

"One condition," Alfred said, holding up a finger, "When we conquer other nations - Since I assume that is your eventual goal - it will be my responsibility to rid of their personifications. You can't do it, so don't even bother. My condition is that, if and when we conquer Canada, I will not kill Matthew."

 

"And the Europeans?" the General clarified.

 

"They can all burn for all I care," Alfred stated. The general stuck out his hand and Alfred took it into his own, shaking.

 

"It's a deal, then," General Blake said.

  
"Awesome," Alfred smirked, "Tell me where to sign."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's been a while since I was working on this story and I'm kind of disgusted by it. I mean, the concept was okay in theory, but things got jumbled and... eh.
> 
> I'm most likely not going to update this, again, but I'll leave it here just in case.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter I wrote a while ago and never posted.


End file.
